Religion and ritual have become fashionable topics for contemporary dance theatre. But in contrast to the more cerebral approach of Lloyd Newson or Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui, Rosie Kay tackles her subject with a headlong physical intensity. There Is Hope explores our seemingly universal impulse to believe in heaven and hell, good and evil, but does so at the level of atavistic impulse. The show opens with an evangelist preacher ranting at his flock – yet the sense of his words is delivered solely through his vehement body language and through the snarling, cajoling sounds of the trumpeter playing alongside him.

This is religion not as sense but as sensory charisma, and during the first half of the show, Kay exposes its dangerous appeal. With just five dancers, a few animal masks and the progressively cacophonous accompaniment of her live band, she conjures up a succession of figures – dictators, ancient gods – all with the power to control and enthral. She also explores hatred as the dark opposite of worship; as each figure is deposed, its followers descend into a spiral of murderous aggression.

Kay's movement is fearlessly full-on, as she choreographs her dancers into a writhing, rutting, gibbering maelstrom. On the floor lies a cross, which is not only desecrated by the dancers' hellish antics but by the mounds of rubbish they strew around the stage.

By the second half, however, rubbish is replaced by flowers and incense, as Kay explores routes to transcendence. Invoking Buddhist mindfulness, Christ's resurrection and spinning dervishes, she translate the impulse to order and exaltation into pure physical states. Some of the material fails to focus clearly. But at its best this engaging, unsettling piece not only distils abstract ideas into sharply visceral imagery, but offers a moving account of what it means to be human.

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